WE SUP WITH THE DEVIL contained had melted before the touch bf his countenance and was rising like a brown tide £bont his nostrils and. bubbling gently before the breath- of his lips. On the opposite side of the table, my wife, Adfele Pleydell, was drooping as droops a fiower whose stem has been snapped. Her fair arms were stretched before her upon the cloth, and her head was sunk between them like that of some suppliant. Her face was wholly hidden, and all I could see of her head was a hint of her dark brown hair. Had she been petitioning Zeus, I cannot believe that she would have gone empty away. Her shoulders must have found favour in his appreciative sight. Against her reclined Berry Pleydell, my brother- in-law. His head lolled upon her shoulder, his body was supported by hers, and his arms and legs were sprawling like those of a sawdust doll. I regret to record that he looked especially shameless and more than anyone present sounded the Roman note. On the floor, a little apart, lay my cousin, Jonathan Mansel, brother to Jill. He had fallen flat on his face, and his right arm was stretched before him towards the wall. His fingers were actually resting against the skirting-board. His posture suggested effort—some frantic attempt which had failed. To crown this degrading scene, champagne was, or had been, everywhere. Two glasses lay broken on the floor, and where each haJ^ faEen a patch of carpet was stained to a darker red. My wife's glass had fallen on the table to drench the cloth. Two bath- room tumblers stood on the .mantelpiece: one was half full of the wine, and cigarette-ends were foulktg the other's dregs. Two bottles stood in a coma: dose ii